


The White Sheep

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cousin Incest, Crack, Denial, F/F, F/M, I live to troll Bran Stark, Literally the crackiest thing ever, M/M, Sibling Incest, this fandom has completely desensitised me to the whole concept of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8452030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Bran loves his older siblings. Really he does. Just... not as much as they all love each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So it's my birthday, and I thought my present to myself would be to ignore all my responsibilities and write the most ridiculous crack I could possibly imagine. I am, however, kind of bemused that of all the Starkcest pairings, the one that doesn't get its own bit here is probably the most popular one? *shrug*
> 
> Note about the ages: it's never terribly clear, but I was working with the ages being:  
> Rickon: 11  
> Bran: 15  
> Arya: 16  
> Sansa: 18  
> Jon & Robb: 21  
> Therefore, everyone whose implied to be having sex is at least 16, which is legal in the modern UK, which is, uh, where I think this is set? (...That's not terribly clear either.)

Robb and Jon have always been close.

Bran's never thought anything of it, of course they're close, they're practically twins – despite Jon technically being their cousin, he's been raised with them since he was a baby, and he and Robb are almost the exact same age. Most people when they meet the family for the first time just assume Jon and Robb must be twins, albeit clearly fraternal, not identical ones. They never bother to dissuade the notion.  


Jon and Robb are close, but all Bran's siblings are close, to him and to each other. Jon and Robb have never seemed to mind their baby brother tagging along on adventures, even when they reached the age where they really should. But that's just not how the Starks are – they fight as much as any family, but they spend all their time together regardless.  


So when Jon and Robb start shutting him out, it's weird.  


_Sorry Bran, we only got the two tickets._   


_Sorry Bran, why don't you go hang out with the Reeds instead?_   


_Sorry Bran, someone has to stay behind and keep an eye on Rickon._   


He's not hurt, exactly, it's not like they spend no time with him anymore. But it feels like they're hiding something from him, and Bran's never been able to resist a good mystery. He tries asking Arya and Sansa about it once over breakfast, and they just shrug at him before immediately going back to arguing over who drank the last of the orange juice, _look Sansa your lipstick stain is on it_ , and _don't be ridiculous Arya I don't drink from the carton, that's disgusting,_ etc.  


One night Bran runs into Jon in the corridors at like 3 AM. His eyes go wide, and he freezes on the spot. “Bran,” he chokes, and Bran can't help but think his voice is really hoarse, “what are you doing up?”  


Bran shrugs. “Couldn't sleep. Got a bit hungry.” He pauses. “You?”  


It's hard to tell in the dark, but Bran thinks Jon is blushing. “Oh, uh,” he coughs awkwardly, “same.”  


There's a long pause between them as Jon does not move, either back to his room or to the kitchen. “...Right,” Bran says after a long while. “Goodnight then?”  


“Goodnight!” Jon says, way, way too quickly.  


Maybe he's being a little sneaky, but as he leaves Bran ducks into a corner, so he can spy on Jon in the darkness. And what he spies is Jon finally moving – not to the kitchen, or to his room, but to Robb's. He looks around nervously before he finally slips inside.  


Bran pauses, blinks, and decides he's going back to bed.  


Whatever's going on, it's not like Jon and Robb are really brothers, right?  


* * *

Conversely, Arya and Sansa have never been close. Their arguments are the stuff of legend, except for the part where they happen every day. The rest of the family have just gotten used to ignoring them. Mother always said they'd settle down as they grew up and matured, but the opposite happened – they fight more than ever now, always storming into each other's rooms some dress of Sansa's Arya's ruined or something Sansa's let Jeyne Poole say to Arya, Bran very rarely can follow the narrative throughline.  


He's not happy when he realises he's left his materials for his and Jojen's exhibition for the science fair at home, and has to race back to get them. Mum and Dad are off on one of their married people dates, Rickon is, like usual, in detention, and Robb and Jon said they'd be out though not what they'd be doing – and Bran doesn't want to think about that too much – so Sansa and Arya have the house to themselves.  


The sound of screaming doesn't immediately greet him, but Bran just assumes he missed that part and walked in on the hiding in their respective rooms in sullen silence. He's grateful, and resolves to just get his things and go as quickly as possible, before he can get dragged into the middle of things.  


Just as he's about to go, however, he hears something – giggling. That's weird. Arya and Sansa never giggle together.  


“Arya, stop that,” says Sansa, but there's something weird about her voice – it sounds strained, and yet, very light. Breathless, even.  


“Really though? Do you really want me to stop?”  


Sansa giggles again, which doesn't really back up her point. Then she lets out a different noise – a moan? “Someone will hear.”  


 _Hear what?_ Bran wonders. Arya scoffs. “Who is going to hear us?”  


“You never know! The neighbours–”  


“You're not _that_ loud, Sansa.”  


Sansa gives an indignant squawk. “I am not – _loud_.”  


“'Course not. And I didn't talk Jon into dragging Robb off so I could hear exactly how loud you can be either.”  


Bran's eyes go wide, and he turns bright red. He stops for a few seconds, thinks, then grabs his things and leaves.  


He is not dealing with this, this makes no sense. This... kind of explains everything, but it still makes no sense.  


* * *

Everyone goes on about how perfect Robb and Sansa are. Captain of the rugby team and captain of the netball team, former head boy and current head girl, the boy getting through his law degree with barely more coffee than the average and the girl whose already received offers from three different prestigious fashion schools. _Good thing she's your sister,_ Theon said once, _else you'd_ have _to be dating her._  


Robb thumped him for that.  


Bran's looking for his old maths textbook in Robb's room (there were some drawings in there Jojen wanted to see, something to do with his weird belief Bran must have psychic powers, Bran doesn't really get it) and not really paying attention to everything else he digs up, until he feels his hand catch on something. Something soft, and silky, and _pink_.  


His eyes go wide and he drops them immediately, for what good it does him. In front of him lies a pair of pink satin underpants, trimmed with black lace, on the floor of Robb's room. Even if Robb was into that, there's no way they'd fit him. So what are they doing here?  


There's no way to explain this without sounding like a pervert, but – Bran recognises those underpants. They have only the one washing line after all, and there are always arguments over whose turn it is to put the laundry away. Bran remembers Arya throwing these underpants at Sansa's face, telling her if she wanted to wear such stupid things it was up to her to figure out how to put them away.  


(In hindsight, Arya being _so_ comfortable touching Sansa's underthings maybe should have been a clue.)  


But what are they doing in Robb's room?  


Bran stares down at them for a long moment. Then he groans.  


 _Perfect_ , he thinks. _Just perfect._

* * *

__

If there's anyone Jon's closer to than Robb, it's Arya. And there's no-one Arya's closer to than Jon. Maybe Bran's always secretly been a little jealous, and thought _he_ should be Arya's favourite brother, since they're so close in age (and Jon isn't technically their brother). But in hindsight it might be for the best that he's not.  


He doesn't mean to stumble upon them, he just wanted to ask Arya if he could borrow her tennis racket, he seems to have lost his. There's nothing ostensibly un-innocent going on. They're just sleeping, Arya's head curled in against her older brother's shoulder. They are definitely wearing clothes, although they're pressed so tightly together Bran can't really see how done up said clothes are.  


What he can see, however, is Arya's small hand curled possessively over Jon's hip.  


Maybe he's just gotten paranoid. But Bran decides to leave before he can find out.  


* * *

Mum and Dad are off on one of their weekends away, leaving their children home alone. Giving how old most of them are (Robb and Jon in particular should probably have moved out by now, and you have to wonder why they haven't), they can look after themselves pretty well.  


It's weird when he gets home with Rickon and there's no-one there, though. It's weirder when he finds two notes – a twenty and also an actual handwritten one – on the kitchen counter.  


_Dear Bran,_   


_Go out and get yourself and Rickon a nice dinner! Don't worry about me, Jon, Sansa + Arya. We'll take care of ourselves._   


_Love, Robb_   


_P.S. Don't go into the basement._   


And, though he tries not to, Bran can't help but hear something. Giggling _._  


“Rickon?!”  


“Wha?” His little brother appears him, and Bran sighs.  


“We're going out.”  


Rickon blinks at him. “Is everyone coming with us?”  


Bran shakes his head. “No.”

* * *

He and Rickon share a really awkward pizza that night. The pizza itself is lovely, although Bran would say the meat's a little overcooked – but that's not the problem, the problem is, he cannot eat it and not wonder what the rest of his family is having for dinner instead. Which is the last thing in the entire universe he wants to wonder about.  


At least Rickon doesn't seem any more inclined to talk than he is. They sit across from one another in a small, dark pizzeria in utter silence, until Rickon suddenly drops his knife and fork – his knife and fork which he wasn't even using to eat, he does it entirely for effect – and looks Bran dead in the eyes. It's rather unsettling.  


“Bran,” he says, very decisively, “I am eleven.”  


Bran can only gawp at him for a long moment, gears in his brain reluctantly whirring into action. Are they really having this conversation? Do they really have to have this conversation?  


“...There are no words for how much I'm _not_ interested,” Bran manages after a long time.  


_Also I'm going to murder our entire family. Sorry about that._   


“Good,” says Rickon. “Just so long as that's clear.”  


* * *

They've all been invited to a wedding. Dad's best friend's brother is finally marrying his boyfriend he's been together with forever, and Sansa spends the whole thing sighing over how romantic it is. Bran, though he wouldn't say it aloud, thinks it's pretty cute too. Loras and Renly just look so happy together. He and Sansa have always been the saps of the family.  


What Bran finds less endearing, however, is the jealous look Jon, Robb and Arya all share when they realise just how closely Sansa is staring at the happy couple.  


Robb and Sansa dance together, of course they do, since they're both such terrific dancers. All Dad's friends coo about how sweet it is, how much Robb loves his little sister, how they still remember when they were declaring themselves knights and princesses. None of them seem to notice how they disappear immediately afterwards.  


Jon and Arya don't dance, nor do they disappear, but Bran does think Arya's smiling just a little wide as she casually relaxes into Jon's shoulder, Jon chews his lip anxiously. Bran decides to leave before he can find himself checking whether Arya has both hands above the table.  


Somehow, he finds himself sitting across from Dad's best friend's wife, and her brother, the Lannister twins. They don't notice him at all. But he notices them, the way they smile at each other, the way Jaime offers a forkful of cake to Cersei's mouth, the way Cersei's hand disappears beneath the table when she thinks no-one's looking.  


Bran blinks, stands up, and walks away.  


His own family's messed up incestuous bullshit is one thing.  



End file.
